Shadow of a Man
by ParagonOfHerKind
Summary: War rages around German officers Gilbert Beilschmidt and Ludwig Weilschmidt. With death around the corner at every turn, every trip "over the top" could be their last. Will the ravage of war separate the brothers-at-arms, or will they escape the trenches?


A/N: Well, here I go. I'm off on the first adventure of my fan fiction career. Yes, a first story is a momentous occasion. You, reader, have just been the witness to my first creation. Isn't that incredible? Well, I shan't take up anymore space with this useless drivel. I now offer to you my first submission – "Shadow of a Man." It is a more historical piece in which our dear German brothers are not, in fact, nations nor are they brothers. I hope that you enjoy this more serious composition and will give me feedback.

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><p>It was cold, winter having set in heavily, and the wind chilled to the bone any who were exposed to its icy embrace. Snow soaked red with the carnage of war blanketed the no man's land between the opposing forces. Trench warfare was hell and could instill fear in the bravest of soldiers. The penalty of trying to flee battle was worse, though – no matter the dangers on the field of battle, those who attempted to abandon duty were often shot on sight per the commanding officer's orders. Desertion would not be tolerated by either side of the brutal conflict.<p>

Trenches meant cold, and dampness that seeped into your joints. They meant rats and infection, sickness, exposure to the elements and at the same time a wretched entrapment. They meant the promise of having to trip over fallen comrades, stumbling through the gory mess of their corpses littering the ground while trying to avoid meeting the same fate. The trenches were nearly synonymous with certain death and even those who were more resilient were intimidated by the idea of having to cross the barren and scarred land between the two forces.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was not different from the men he served with – the albino would fight for his country, for his men, for his younger brother-in-arms who stood beside him in the trenches as they were fired upon and lobbed with grenades. He wished they could have stayed out of the conflict. He wished they could run and leave the war and death behind. The albino wished that he could be assured that he and Ludwig would make it out of the war alive and in one piece. The blonde had saved him early on and the two had held eachothers backs since. The young blonde was all that kept Gilbert going through all of the death around them, and the Captain couldn't help but feel for the teenager – Ludwig was only _fifteen_ and so young compared to the more experienced twenty-six year old officer. He belonged in school, not the military. But the albino couldn't think of such things; he had to focus on his present, _their_ present, in order to insure that they would live to see the next morning.

The attack on Verdun had started on the twenty-first of February, 1916, on the orders of German Chief of Staff Falkenhayn. They had been told it would be simple – the forts encircling Verdun had been partially stripped a year earlier, losing nearly half of their artillery. Material circumstances favoured a successful German offensive: Verdun was isolated on three sides and railway communications to the French rear were restricted. The initial advance was an incredible 5 kilometers in less than two days, and French Colonel Driant had withdrawn troops to a more defensible position. Driant was killed on the twenty-second, and Bois des Caures and Haumont were captured. Fort Douaumont soon followed, with Gilbert and Ludwig managing to make it onto the raiding party. No shots were fired, but the French were forced to surrender the fort – the largest of the defensive forts of Verdun.

But things became more difficult. Their artillery cover was spread too thin, unable to maintain with the rapid forward advancements that the soldiers made. Shells had torn the earth and mauled anything within range; solid footing was hard to find and the mud slowed the German forces. In some areas, Gilbert had looked around himself to see them all waist-deep in slick mud, their guns over their heads to keep them free of mud and water damage. More than once a soldier fell and had to be pulled from the mires. Heavy snow added to the delays in movement, and Gilbert came to realize that this would not be nearly as easy as their _Oberleutnant _had claimed it would be, despite the successes they seemed to be having. He had no idea how right he would be.

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><p>AN: Please review! I hope it doesn't sound too boring…ah well. I like it, and that's all that really matters.


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